


So Open Up My Eyes, Tell Me I'm Alive

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LCDrarry, M/M, Secret Garden AU, Trauma, character with a disability, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23911402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Draco Malfoy comes to live at Godric’s Hollow, he finds it full of secrets. One night he hears the sound of crying…This story hasn't been updated since it was posted June 2020. I've merely added to the notes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 132
Collections: Lights Camera Drarry 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't be nearly as good without the help of G for beta reading, U for sensitivity reading, and the mods, @erin-riwen & @llap115, for their kindness, patience, and hard work running the fest.  
>   
> Warnings: trauma, canon typical violence, homophobia, use of f-g/f----t, mention of suicidal thoughts, character with a disability  
>   
> When I posted this fic for the LCDrarry Fest, I chose not to include a note about the “problematic” nature of The Secret Garden by Frances Burnett. That was a mistake, and I deeply regret it. 
> 
> The Secret Garden is the story of a ten-year-old who leaves behind their old world in which they are unwanted and neglected and travels to a magical world where they make friends and have adventures. It has been an extremely influential book since it was published in 1911. It’s been adapted for movies (one of which is scheduled for release this year), television, anime, and musical theater. There’s even an opera. Sound familiar?
> 
> It was also written by a horrible bigot whose prejudice is the foundation of the story and world it builds. At its heart, it's racist, sexist, homophobic, classist, and most especially ableist.
> 
> Like every other “problematic” fave, I won’t tell you not to read it or how to feel about it. Personally, there is much that I love about the story. That’s why I chose it as the AU for this story. I know my story isn’t perfect, but I also tried my hardest to counter those prejudices in it.
> 
> There has been a lot written in the past two months about systemic racism, homophobia, and transphobia, but I’d like to call attention to ableism. If you are at all interested in learning more, please read, [“There is ableism somewhere at the heart of your oppression, no matter what your oppression might be,”](https://ballastexistenz.wordpress.com/2016/05/01/there-is-ableism-somewhere-at-the-heart-of-your-oppression-no-matter-what-your-oppression-might-be/) by Mel Baggs.
> 
> Thank you so much for your time.

Forty-five hours ago, Draco was in Houston, watching the sunset reflect off the downtown skyscrapers. Thirty hours ago, he’d stood on the ridge overlooking his family’s ranch house, the desert sun warm on his face. Tonight, he tensed his jaw and arm muscles to keep from shivering in the middle of an English cow pasture.

He was exhausted. While her team from Lennox, Craven & Associates scrambled to find a safe house, Medlock, his lawyer and security consultant, kept him moving. He’d lost track of the number of apparitions and portkey jumps they’d made since she’d found him.

There was hardly a pop to warn him when their contact from Godric’s Hollow apparated into the field. At the sight of the woman in dark robes and a pointy hat, Draco sheathed his wand and slowed his breath.

He turned to Medlock. “Is someone’s house in England really my best option? Lucius and Narcissa grew up here. Won’t this be the first place they’ll look?”

Medlock stepped past Draco with her hand extended. “Thank you for your help, Professor McGonagall.” She turned back to Draco. “We’ve gone over this. It’s not just someone’s house. It’s your cousin Sirius Black’s home. Godric’s Hollow is under a fidelius charm and safer than any of the firm’s houses for now. You’re lucky he agreed to let you stay.”

She adjusted her suit jacket, flashing the handgun holstered to her side. It was just a little reminder of what she’d done to get him there safely. 

She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be in touch the moment we have word on Narcissa.” She nodded to Professor McGonagall, and a second later she disappeared.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said, holding out her arm. “If you will.”

He took a long moment to hitch up his baggy jeans and shift his skateboard from one arm to another before he took her elbow. 

An unpleasant moment later, they stood on a hillside covered with short, scrubby bushes. Professor McGonagall led him on a silent hike across and down the hill. After five minutes, she halted. With the wave of her wand, the peaks of two towers burst from the ground. Soon a great house stood silhouetted against the cloudy, night sky.

Passing through the gate into the front garden, Draco had the impression of age and decay. It was mid-May, but the flower beds were empty, bare patches of dirt. The house’s facade must have been crumbling for some time, since the ground was littered with brick shards. From what he could see, the interior of the house wasn’t in better condition. The floorboards were warped and the carpet leading up the staircase was worn to nothing.

At the top of the steps, Professor McGonagall pointed to the right with her wand. “Your room is there.” A door swung open at the end of the hallway. “Goodnight Mr. Malfoy.” 

She didn’t wait for his answer, and he didn’t wait to watch her leave before heading to his room. He dropped his backpack and carefully set his skateboard on the floor, and not bothering to take off his clothes and shoes, he fell onto the bed and closed his eyes. 

\---

_Tendrils of hair stick to Narcissa’s cheeks and forehead. She brushes them away only to have the breeze push them back into her face. She holds up one hand to shield her eyes as she searches for something familiar to guide her home. In the distance, earth and sky ripple like water. It’s only a mirage, but she follows the path towards it. She hardly notices the dried sagebrush and low-growing cacti that scratch her ankles and feet. The mirage is always out of reach. A sob escapes her parched throat._

Draco jerked his head up, scanning the room.

From somewhere, a gasp — the catch of breath of someone trying to stifle their cries.

Draco scrambled out of bed and into the hallway. Drawn by a half-circle of light in the otherwise dark house, he found himself standing on the far side of the hall in front of a blank wall.

At the muffled sound of a sniff and sigh, Draco pointed his wand at the wall and cast _alohomora_. A wood panel slid to the left, and still caught up in his dream, he stepped inside.

A voice from across the room commanded, “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

Draco slashed his wand and lit the oil lamps scattered around the room.

A boy sat in a bed on the far side of the room, his wand pointed at Draco. Round glasses covered half his face, and his hair stuck out in different directions as if he’d just woken up.

Surprised out of the sadness and longing he’d felt from his dream, Draco sneered at the kid. “Or what? You’ll throw your wand at me?” He took in the kid’s white and blue striped pajamas and the way his hand trembled. “Are you even old enough to have a wand?”

The kid scowled at him. “I’m sixteen.”

Draco laughed at the blatant lie. “Expelliarmus,” he said and caught the kid’s wand with his free hand.

“Give me that.” 

The kid’s voice was deadly serious, and Draco almost believed he was sixteen.

Draco chuckled. “Make me.”

With furrowed brows, an intense look of concentration, and that serious voice, the kid said, “Expelliarmus.”

Both wands were ripped from Draco’s hands and plucked from the air by the kid.

For a moment, the kid stared at the wands as though he couldn’t believe what he’d done. Then, he threw back his head and laughed. He barely caught his breath as he said, “Make me. Make me.”

Draco strode across the room and grabbed his wand from the boy. Now that he was standing over him, Draco saw the redness in the kid’s eyes and remembered why he was here. 

“You were crying.” 

Draco regretted the words immediately as the smile on the kid’s face disappeared.

There was something hard in the kid’s green eyes as he stared at Draco. “And you’re here because your drug-dealer dad got himself killed.”

It’d been a mistake to think that this kid, or anyone really, wouldn’t hit back when they felt attacked. 

Draco smiled and punched back. “And where are your parents? You’re just some little kid crying for mommy and daddy in the middle of the night.”

His hand rock steady, the kid pointed his wand at Draco again. “Get out.”

Starting softly but quickly growing louder, thrumming and rattling filled the room. Books vibrated on shelves, and the water glass on the nightstand shook.

“Get out!”

A book fell from the shelves. 

Draco got out, and the panel slid shut behind him.

When he reached his room, he sat on his bed and listened for the sound of a crash or explosion. After ten minutes of silence, he kicked off his shoes and climbed back into bed with his wand tucked under his pillow.

\---

Draco woke, his hand already under his pillow, fumbling for his wand. He’d been so busy harassing the kid that he’d let him disarm him. He pulled his wand out from under his pillow and summoned his shoes. When they landed on the bed next to him, he dropped back onto the pillow and covered his eyes with his arm. How could he have been so sloppy? What if his wand had switched allegiance? He’d have been left defenseless.

He climbed out of bed and surveyed the room, assessing its security. Three entrances: door, window, and fireplace. If the house was truly under a fidelius charm, the fireplace wouldn’t be connected to the floo network. So, two entrances. The window was large enough for several people to break through at once. He cast a shield charm and layered another charm over it to alert him if anyone tried to break in. Besides his backpack and skateboard, the room contained only an empty bookshelf, a desk and chair, and a bed, all had seen better days. They could be moved if he had to secure the door and the window. Perhaps, he should move the bookshelf to block the fireplace just in case. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the furniture or windowsill, so the room had obviously been cleaned recently. He sniffed. The scent of mold and decay lingered in the air. It had been a while since anyone had used this room or the entire house. He should confirm that with Professor McGonagall. 

He sat heavily on the bed. Lucius would be so proud of his paranoia. Maybe Draco could have been the man his dad had wanted him to be after all.

His skin itched at the thought. He needed a shower. He grabbed his backpack and went looking for a bathroom. When he finally found one down the hall, it was as clean as his room with only the hint of mildew. 

In the shower, he rested his cheek against the cold, tile wall and watched the clean water turn brown with grit and blood. Thankfully, only the dirt was his.

After scrubbing the rest of his body, he rubbed shampoo into his hair. It had been a month since the last time he’d had it all buzzed off, and it was long enough to lay flat when wet. He preferred it shorter, when it was barely longer than stubble. He ran his fingers through it, making it spike out in different directions like the boy’s hair last night. He pushed it back down. He could always grow it out again, now that there wasn’t anyone to be pissed off and complain he looked like a thug.

Back in his room, he found a tray of food on his desk. He knew he wouldn’t find anyone, but he still looked around clues as to who had brought him breakfast. Assuming the fireplace was blocked, it must have been house elves. He didn’t have much experience with elves since Lucius and Narcissa only hired humans. If you can't understand someone, you can't control them, and there was no way for a human to understand an elf. At least that was the theory.

After Draco choked down some toast and juice, he dumped the contents of his backpack onto the bed. Medlock had sent someone to the ranch house to pack his bag. Along with toiletries, they’d included enough boxers to last a week, socks, a few t-shirts, jeans, and the stack of comic books that had been on his nightstand.

He set the comics on the middle shelf of the empty bookcase. He’d bought them in April and never had a chance to read them.

Ready to survey the grounds, he tucked his skateboard under his arm. Even if he was only stuck here for a couple of days, he needed to evaluate the safety of the entire manor and monitor the perimeter.

The stairs and main floor were as clean as but not in as good a condition as his room. The polish had worn off the woodwork, the wallpaper was patchy with stains, and the plaster walls and ceilings were cracked. It looked like Godric’s Hollow had been abandoned for decades. If he hadn’t seen Professor McGonagall and that weird kid last night, he would have guessed it was still abandoned.

He set his skateboard on the bottom step and proceeded to case the joint. He started to the left of the stairs and began opening doors: large, empty, small, empty, empty, piles of furniture, medieval kitchen, empty, empty, empty. When he’d come full circle and was at the last room to the right of the stairs, he paused. He didn’t need to go in to know that this room would be different. He could feel it. Slowly, he opened the door and peeked in.

The room was a library, but it wasn’t _just_ a library. If there were such a thing as platonic ideals, this room was the ideal library: polished wood tables, floor to ceiling bookshelves with ladders on rollers, window seats — even wingback chairs on either side of a large fireplace. He closed the door as slowly as he’d opened it.

From the main entrance, he took stock. There were five steps down from the porch to the smooth pavement below — perfect for practicing jumps on his skateboard. The garden looked to be an acre in size with concrete paths crisscrossing through and around it. They weren’t in the best condition, but he could repair the worst of it, maybe. If nothing else, skating around the gardens gave him the chance to survey the garden’s borders and practice ollies.

He’d always wanted to be a bored teenager, skateboarding all day, and nothing was stopping him now.

He started with a lap around the garden. When he was close to the low stone wall that marked the property line, he felt the slight tingle of an active shield, and he relaxed. He had to stop a couple of times to walk when the pavement was too damaged to skateboard over.

He’d planned to fix them on his next pass but didn’t get the chance. The paths had been smoothed out, and he couldn’t tell where the repairs had been done. His third time around, concrete benches had appeared, perfect for practicing jumps and slides. 

He skidded to a halt in front of the main doors. 

He’d grown up in no-maj houses. Sure, there had been shields around the property and protective charms on the panic rooms, armory, and holding cells, but with all the no-maj servants and muscle, it wasn’t safe to have a truly magical house. 

Maybe if he’d gone to Ilvermorny, he’d feel more comfortable with the idea of a building knowing what he wanted or needed, but it felt too much like legilimency to him. The thought of practicing occlumency all day, every day to keep a house from reading his mind was exhausting.

On the other hand, the grounds repairing the paths for him was a gift. If he was just an ordinary kid, he’d accept it as something he was entitled to. Draco grimaced. It hadn’t been that long since he'd been that spoiled brat. 

Pushing down his embarrassment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Thank you!”

He stepped back and examined the house. Which of those windows was the kid’s? The part of him that was still a brat wasn’t sorry about their argument. The part that had been forced to grow up and consider the consequences of his actions wondered why he hadn’t seen him all day. It was cloudy and not nearly as warm as New Mexico, but it wasn’t bad for England. No kid — and no way was that little boy sixteen — would want to be cooped up in that small room all day.

Once it started to get dark, Draco returned to his room. Before heading up the steps, he glanced at the closed door to the library. Maybe he’d go in tomorrow or next week if he was still at Godric’s Hollow.

Another tray of food waited for him on his desk. He grabbed _X-Men Legacy_ and sat at the old-fashioned desk to eat. He was hungry after spending the day skateboarding, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was that the house elves had brought him, let alone if he wanted to eat it. It looked like hamburger helper covered in mashed potatoes. It was probably something English, but definitely not something Narcissa or Lucius would eat. Malfoy family dinners were rare with linen tablecloths and important and probably dangerous guests. Every other night, Draco ate chicken tenders in the kitchen with the staff.

He picked at the mashed potato thing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Godric’s Hollow could read his mind and knew what he wanted to eat.

He had moved the bed and started reading _The Amazing Spiderman_ when there was a knock at the door.

Missing her hat but still in long, fancy robes, Professor McGonagall entered his room. “I see you’ve had your dinner,” she said. “I asked the elves to bring your meals to you here, but if you’d prefer to eat in the dining room or if you need to contact me for any reason, please leave a note on the kitchen table.” 

She said all of this stiffly, as though she was reading from a teleprompter. But for all her formal manners, she clearly didn’t trust him and radiated suspicion.

“Have a good night, Mr. Malfoy,” she said with finality, turning to leave. 

Draco waited until she was almost through the door to say, “Goodnight, Professor McGonagall.” 

If her attitude toward him hadn't triggered his suspicions, they would have been by her failure to mention the kid — the mysterious boy hidden away in a dark room in an abandoned house under a fidelius charm. 

If she was hiding an obscurus here, a fidelius wasn’t going to keep any of them safe. 

He needed to go back to that room.

\---

The boy already had his wand drawn when Draco entered the hidden room. If the boy _was_ an obscurus, Draco needed to keep calm and not provoke him. He stuck his wand in his back pocket and held up his hands. 

Coldy, the kid said, “I told you to get out.”

“Yeah, you did.” Hands still up, Draco crossed the room to stand next to the bed. Sometimes you had to step into the trap to see how much danger you were in. “I’m Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake.

The boy looked at him suspiciously. His gaze traveled over Draco’s body as though searching for weapons. Eventually, he shook Draco’s hand. “I’m Harry Potter.”

Letting his guard down a little, Draco climbed onto the end of Harry Potter’s bed. He jerked his chin up in acknowledgment. “Sup?”

Eyebrows furrowed, Harry tilted his head. “That’s it? Every time I meet someone new, they make a fuss about meeting me.”

Draco didn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “Is it your hair?” 

Harry scowled at him and patted his hair down. It popped it back up. 

Draco laughed. He didn’t want the kid to kill them all with accidental magic, but Draco couldn’t stop giving him shit. 

“No, seriously, are you ‘English famous?’ The only famous person I know from England is Princess Di.” Worried that he’d made himself into a stereotype, he added, “And James Bond.”

“Lily and James Potter were my parents.” He stared at Draco intently. “They defeated Voldemort when I was a baby.”

Harry was so earnest that Draco felt bad for not knowing what he was talking about. Maybe he’d know if he’d gone to Ilvermorny, but that hadn’t been an option. He was at a loss. Harry was waiting for him to say something, so he asked, “Where are they now?”

“You really don’t know.” Harry sounded genuinely surprised. “When I was one, Voldemort attacked us here at Godric's Hollow. My mom and dad died, and Voldemort disappeared. Everyone thought I'd disappeared too. They even call me The Boy Who Disappeared.” Harry glared at Draco as though it was all his fault. 

Draco glared back. He really didn’t want to have a heart to heart with a stranger, but it went against the bro-code to leave Harry hanging after a confession like that. 

“You were right yesterday,” he finally said. “Four days ago, my dad was murdered and my mom went missing. We don’t know why.”

“I was injured in the attack.” Harry held up his hair to show a scar on his forehead. Then, he pulled back his blankets. His legs were short and crooked and much too thin. “My head and legs hurt all the time,” he continued matter of factly, “and I’ll never be able to walk. If someone had taken care of me right away, maybe they could have done something, but...” 

Draco flinched. He'd made fun of Harry for being tiny, for looking like a kid. He may not have known it at the time, but he’d still been a dick.

Harry's eyes flicked down to the wand in his lap before locking on Draco. “My magic got screwed up too. Now the healers say my magical core and physical injuries are all tied together. They can’t fix one without damaging the other. And you saw what happened last night. I can’t control my magic. I could hurt people.”

Draco couldn’t admit that was what had brought him to Harry’s room in the first place, so he offered up another humiliating truth. “When I was eleven, my dad told me they didn’t want to have me, but he needed an heir to get his hands on some of the Malfoy money. It’s all about the money for Malfoys, so here I am.”

Harry answered quickly, continuing their odd game of tragic one-upmanship. “Everyone knew that my aunt hated my mom, but they abandoned me on her doorstep anyway. Petunia didn’t bother to take me to the doctor, either. She and her husband locked me in a cupboard and starved me. Even if I hadn’t had this,” he gestured at his legs, “I would have grown all wrong because the cupboard was too small for me to move.”

Draco felt completely helpless at this. He couldn’t do anything to fix what had happened to Harry. All he could do was tell Harry another truth. “I lied when I said I didn’t know why they put out the hit on my Dad.” 

“Four months ago, my godfather rescued me from my closet,” Harry went on, as though he hadn’t even heard Draco. “I’ve never had friends or family or anything except a secondhand telly, and I thought— I thought. But he dumped me here and hasn’t been back. No one’s been back. A couple of healers examined me and left. I see Professor McGonagall a couple times a day, but the rest of the time I’m alone. And now you’re here, and you’re going to leave too.”

In that moment, Draco wished he could promise not to leave, but he couldn’t.

Head bowed, Harry whispered into his lap, “I miss my cupboard. I hated it, but how is this any different? I’m alone, trapped in this bed in this room, and they won’t let me out. At least that cupboard was mine. I want something that’s mine.”

People were cruel and didn’t care how they hurt others, even the people they were supposed to love. He and Harry were just two orphans trapped in a run-down house, and there was nothing they could do about it.

So Draco did the only thing he was good at. He was an ass. “Your life sucks, kid.”

Harry glared at him.“Fuck you.”

Draco frowned back. “Language. A little kid like you should have better manners. What would Professor McGonagall say?”

“Don’t say anything bad about her. I like Professor McGonagall.”

“You _like_ Professor McGonagall? How does that work?”

“Shut up.”

They grinned at each other. 

Harry had a nice smile. Draco hated it. He didn’t want to notice Harry’s smiles, or his hair, or his deep, green eyes. Draco even hated Harry’s ridiculous glasses. Why couldn’t Draco be normal and just hang out with another guy? Why did everything have to be about liking someone, wanting someone?

He needed to leave before he noticed anything else, like Harry’s hands and how they looked while holding his wand. He stood. 

He slid off the bed. “I should let you go to sleep so you're fresh for Professor McGonagall tomorrow morning.” It was a joke, barely. He turned back at the door. “Is it okay…” 

Sounding as awkward as Draco, Harry asked, “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

Was it really that easy? One day you were pointing wands at each other, the next you’re comparing trauma, and suddenly you’re best friends?

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

\---

It was raining. Of course, it was raining. It was spring in England, and the chance of rain was probably 100% every day.

Ignoring the breakfast tray on his desk, Draco climbed back into bed. Whatever time it was, it was too early and too wet to get up. 

_He closed his eyes and slowed his breath…_

His eyes flew open; his heart pounding.

_He closed his eyes and slowed his breath…_

He rolled over onto his other side.

_He closed his eyes and slowed his breath…_

He sat up. Maybe the rain would ease up by the time he finished breakfast.

It didn’t. He pushed the tray away and looked around his room. He could skateboard through the puddles, he could read his comic books, or he could go to the library.

It wasn’t that Lucius had discouraged Draco from studying. He'd hired private tutors for Draco in math and finance, chemistry, offensive and defensive magic — everything a future drug trafficker needed to know. But the best education was to be out on the ground, learning how the operation ran through first-hand experience. The rest was just a waste of time.

In the end, Draco didn't know why he'd pretended he'd do anything other than visiting the library. There was no one here to pretend for. 

He wandered along the shelves, stopping occasionally to examine a book, but mostly brushing his fingertips over their spines. He stopped when one book slid out further than the rest, and he pulled it off the shelf. The pages fell open to a photograph of a youngish woman in front of a walled garden. She smiled and beckoned to the photographer. The caption read: “Euphemia Potter invites guests to Godric’s Hollow’s Secret Garden.” 

Marking his place with one finger, Draco checked the title of the book: _Notable Magical Homes of Great Britain_. Two more books, _The Big Book of Household Charms_ and _The Complete Encyclopedia of Magical Dwellings_ , slid forward. Draco grabbed them and carried all three to the nearest table.

The first two chapters of the encyclopedia were an introduction to the “science and wonder of magical homes.” They were followed by a detailed history of magical homes around the world, and in Britain specifically. A whole section of _Notable Magical Homes_ was devoted to Malfoy Manor. Converted from a castle built by Norman invaders in the eleventh century, the house was enormous. Generations of Malfoys may have added wings and smoothed the facade into something elegant and civilized, but Draco could still see what it was at its heart: a fortress built by thieves to protect what they’d stolen. 

He’d sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if he’d grown up in England, with grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. He’d thought everything would be different, that his parents would be different. This was his answer. 

But maybe, if he hadn’t been so sheltered, he would have figured everything out sooner. He would have gone to Hogwarts and met people. He would have seen that there were other ways to live, other ways to think. Maybe his life wouldn’t have come to this.

As though it knew what he needed, the book wiggled out of Draco's hands and flipped back to the section on Godric’s Hollow.

The chapter spelled out the history of the manor and the Potter family. It wasn’t one of the oldest magical houses, nor the grandest, but it had one of the finest examples of magical gardens in all of Britain. Godric’s Hollow wasn’t just beautiful; it was a mystery. 

Draco walked to the end of the room and stared into the fire. Harry was stuck in that room, alone and in pain, and missing his cupboard because it had been his. But Godric’s Hollow was his, and he didn’t even know it. Harry needed to know.

Draco spun around, ready to charge up to Harry’s room, and stopped. 

Professor McGonagall sat at his table, leafing through one of the books on house magic. 

Draco clenched his jaw and forced himself to calmly and quietly walk across the room.

She closed the book and looked up at him. “I’m happy to see you here. I assumed you’d be out on that wheeled board of yours. I heard from your cousin, Sirius Black, and wanted to pass Ms. Medlock’s message to you.”

Draco leaned against the back of his chair. For a moment, he’d forgotten why he was here.

He’d never heard of Black before Medlock told him he’d been invited to stay in the man’s home. Lucius and Narcissa never spoke about England, or about their families. Draco knew next to nothing about the Blacks and Malfoys and had always assumed they knew nothing about him. 

“They don’t have anything new regarding your mother’s whereabouts, but they’ve discovered more information about your father.” Professor McGonagall studied him through her square-shaped glasses. “Mr. Malfoy, I understand that you want to hear about your mother as soon as they know anything, but do you wish to be updated on the other facets of Ms. Medlock’s investigation?”

He should want to know. Lucius would want to know.

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Very well.” Professor McGonagall stood. “I’ll let you get back to your research. Please let me know if you need anything or have any questions. Have a good day, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco turned _Notable Magical Houses_ around so that he could see what she was reading. The book was open to the section on Malfoy Manor. Why was she looking at that? Why was everything a mystery? 

Draco flipped back to the article on Godric’s Hollow and stared at the photograph of Euphemia Potter. That seemed pretty straightforward, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Complete Encyclopedia of Magical Dwellings_ bounced when Draco dumped it and the other books onto Harry’s bed.

“Budge over,” he demanded, sitting on the bed and leaning into Harry to get him to move. 

Harry leaned back against him, his face stubborn. “Sit somewhere else.”

“Come on.” Draco waved the book on British houses in Harry’s face. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Harry sighed, and grunted with each inch he reluctantly shifted to the side, dramatically lifting each leg through his blankets to move them over. 

Trying to sound bored, Draco said, “Are you done?”

Harry frowned and shook his head.

Draco set the closed book on Harry’s lap. When he didn’t touch it, Draco sighed. “Fine, be that way. What do you know about Godric’s Hollow?”

Harry shrugged. “It was my parents’ house. They lived here until...”

“Right.” Just like it had before, _Notable Magical Houses_ opened automatically to the entry on Godric’s Hollow. “So, Godric’s Hollow has been the home of Potters for the last 150 years or something.” 

Harry finally looked down at the page. His mouth made an “O,” and he ran his fingertip around the photo of Euphemia in front of the garden. 

Impatiently, Draco waited for Harry to read the article. When Harry still hadn’t said anything after a few minutes, Draco glanced at him. Harry’s mouth was pressed shut and his eyebrows were furrowed. 

Hoping he’d read Harry’s pinched brows and the way his eyes were fixed on the picture correctly, Draco started to read the article aloud — named for a magical village a mile away; blah, blah, blah; Statute of Secrecy; famous people no one had ever heard of; money from the no-maj Industrial Revolution; Arnold Potter; 1857; etc. 

Draco finished the article and asked, “You’ve only ever lived in no-maj houses right?”

“No-maj?”

“Not magical. I did too, but like the article says Godric’s Hollow is a magical house. You’ve been here for a couple of months, right? Have you seen anything weird happen?”

Harry snapped the book shut. “Is there a point to this?”

“Fine. Right to the point. Godric’s Hollow is more than just a house. Over the years, the people living in it imbued it with certain magical powers."

Harry looked skeptical. 

Draco wanted to shake him. Godric’s Hollow was _magic_ and _safety_ and _Harry’s_ and the complete opposite of his aunt’s closet. Draco started again. 

“A charm is a spell that changes what an object does. You can cast a charm to make a wall look like a window and another to change it back. That’s great, but wouldn’t it be better if your wall _knew_ what you wanted and made it happen automatically?”

Harry sneered at him. “Are you saying my window knows I want it to be a window?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. We can check that later if you want. My first day here, the paths around the garden repaired themselves so that I could skateboard on them. Then, it added benches and other things that weren't there the first time I skated around the garden.”

Harry shook his head. “Nothing like that has happened to me.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s because Professor McGonagall is doing all the things the house would do for you if she wasn’t here.”

Harry ran his hand over the cover of the book, but Draco didn’t think he was seeing it.

“Here’s what I think,” Draco said. “No one lived here for twelve years or so until you and Professor McGonagall moved in, but that’s too short a time for a house to fall apart like Godric’s Hollow did. I think it was waiting for you to come back.”

Harry shifted and their shoulders touched. When Harry didn’t lean away, Draco let himself relax into Harry’s side.

“Once the house realizes you’re here, the Potter of Godric’s Hollow, it will start fixing itself.” He opened the book again and pointed to the picture of Euphemia. “Look, that’s the Secret Garden. It’s what Godric’s Hollow was famous for. It was supposedly the most beautiful garden in Magical Britain, roses and ivy and all that. But it would only appear for the Potters. Anyone else could search all day and never find it.”

Harry looked at the photo with a small smile on his face.

Good. Harry was happy about Godric’s Hollow. Mission accomplished. Next, they could look through the other books and maybe talk about magical cultures around the world. Then Draco could go back to his room and sleep. 

Instead, he said, “Let’s go look for the garden.”

Harry laughed. “What? Now?”

“This is the perfect time. Professor McGonagall is in bed, and she’ll never know you left your room unless you want her to.”

“But I can’t— ” Harry’s expression hardened. “Why are you doing this?”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut at the flare of anger that burst in him. He hated Harry’s aunt and whoever decided to leave him with her. He hated Harry’s godfather and whoever else had abandoned him here, and he hated Professor McGonagall, who kept him trapped in this room. Harry should be excited to get out of here, not making excuses not to, and that was their fault.

Draco opened his eyes, smiled at Harry, and shrugged. “Why not?”

Harry turned and looked out the window, and Draco stared at the back of Harry’s head and his terrible hair. 

“If you don’t want to go outside, we could look at it from the front door.” 

When Harry didn’t turn around or say anything, Draco decided to keep pushing. 

“But if you want to go out, you’re going to need something warmer than those pj’s. I’m not saying they don’t look great on you, but do you have a sweater or jacket or something?”

He didn’t wait for Harry to answer. He climbed off the bed and opened the closet next to the door. He pulled out one of a dozen sets of robes and held it up to his chin. “Let me guess, Professor McGonagall bought these for you.”

Harry snorted, and Draco put it back in the closet. Empty-handed, he returned to Harry’s bed.

“I suck at transfiguration, so you’re stuck with this.” He pulled off his hoodie and threw it at Harry.

While Harry stared at the hoodie as though he’d never seen clothes before, Draco pulled off his shoes and socks. Throwing his socks at Harry, he slipped his bare feet into his shoes.

He glanced back at Harry as he laced his sneakers. Harry had already pulled on Draco’s hoodie and had one sock pulled halfway over his foot. He had to bend his waist at an odd angle and hold his foot with one hand to pull at the sock. It looked painful, and Draco cringed.

He and Harry had spent a good portion of their time together insulting and pointing their wands at each other. Would they end up like that now if he asked Harry if he wanted help? Would it be worse not to ask? 

He scrubbed both hands over his head. He should just come out and ask. He was about to when Harry rolled the second sock over his ankle, and Draco lost the chance.

Harry caught Draco watching him and narrowed his eyes. “So, how am I getting out of here?” 

Not having planned any of this, Draco blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “I’ll carry you out.”

Harry looked horrified, and Draco’s heart plummeted. He started to backtrack, to laugh it off. But then Harry’s expression relaxed.

“You’re going to carry me over the threshold like a bride?”

Draco smirked. “If that’s what you want. I was thinking I’d carry you on my back. Once we’re outside, you can ride my skateboard.”

“I can’t— “

“You can sit on it and push yourself with your hands. Everyone does it. Or I can push you. It’ll be fun.”

Not wanting to give Harry the chance to come up with another objection, Draco crouched at the side of the bed and looked over his shoulder. Harry frowned so hard his lips almost touched his chin.

“What’s that look for?” Draco patted his back. “Hop on.”

Harry shook his head “no,” but he picked up his left leg and moved it closer to Draco.

Still worried that he’d insult Harry by helping, Draco reached behind himself to help Harry arrange his legs on either side of his back. When they were both in position, Harry rested his hands lightly on Draco’s shoulders.

Draco looked back at him. “Are you worried I’m going to give you cooties or something? You actually need to hold on, or you’re going to fall on your back before we’re even out of your room.”

Harry punched Draco’s shoulder blade before wrapping his arms over Draco’s chest and leaning against his back. Draco had been so busy concentrating on how this would be awkward for Harry, he’d forgotten to worry about himself. Now, though… he wrapped his hands under Harry’s thighs and pulled him against his lower back. Yeah. This was awkward. 

Draco stood then crouched down again. “I forgot my wand.”

“I’ve got it,” Harry said, his breath warm against the back of Draco’s ear. “I’ve got both of ours. They're in the pocket of your hoodie. Stop stalling. Let’s go.”

“Stalling? I’m not stalling.” He headed out the door. “Who’s the one who talked the other one into going out?”

It had rained all day, so it wasn’t a surprise when they stepped outside and it was cold, damp, and cloudy. Draco knew from experience that the only way to stay warm in this kind of weather was to keep moving. Telling Harry he’d be right back, he set Harry down on the steps and ran to get his skateboard.

Worried about the cold, Draco hadn’t noticed Harry’s silence until he returned. He slid to a stop in front of Harry and looked at him expectantly, but Harry stared past him, face completely blank. Draco pulled his hand back before he touched Harry’s shoulder. It hadn’t occurred to him that this might be overwhelming for Harry. Had Harry been outside before? He’d been locked in his aunt’s cupboard and then locked in his room here. He must be scared shitless. 

Keeping a couple of inches between them, Draco sat on the step next to Harry and took a deep breath, then another. This was what he did. He acted on impulse. He didn’t think of the consequences. He got people hurt. He’d hurt Harry, and he needed to fix this.

“Harry,” he said softly, “we can go back inside if you want.” He paused. “Or we can stay here.”

Draco spread his legs a little and rested his elbows on his knees. He’d sit here all night if that’s what Harry needed. He stared at the pavement, grateful for the breeze that cooled his cheeks and dried the sweat along his hairline. 

As if continuing a conversation, Harry said, “It’s really big, isn’t it?” 

More an exhalation than a word, Draco said, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know it would be so big. It didn't look this big from my window.”

Draco couldn’t imagine what it was like. For the first time, Harry wasn’t locked behind a door or looking at the world through a window. Was it scary, or did Harry feel free?

He asked, “You’re not too cold, are you?”

Harry glanced at him sharply, but he sounded amused. “Why are you so obsessed with the temperature?”

Draco tried to match the teasing tone in Harry’s voice. “I grew up in the desert. I’ve been cold since I got here.” He shivered pointedly and then studied Harry, asking again, “Are you cold?”

“I’m not cold.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Staring out over the garden again, Harry said, “Everything just feels weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Maybe.” 

“Are you done with the weirdness, or do you want to see if we can find the garden?”

“I want to find it. I think I can.” Harry stared into the dark. “It’s like... the garden wants me to be out here and doesn’t want me to go back in. I’ve never felt anything like that.” 

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry gestured at the garden. “It isn’t just that everything is big. It’s that I’ve never felt welcomed like this before. It feels like the garden, all of Godric’s Hollow, is welcoming me home. Like you said, it was waiting for me.”

For a moment, Draco wondered what that would feel like. Then, he slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “Do you want me to carry you, or do you want to try the skateboard?”

After fumbling around and calling each other names, they figured out that it was easier for Harry to get onto the skateboard from the ground. Draco put a sticking charm on the wheels to keep the board from moving while Harry lifted his hips up and onto the board. Wrapping one arm around his bent legs and clutching the board with his other hand, Harry was stable enough for Draco to push him from behind.

“You should have seen the paths the first time I skateboarded around here. They were all cracked and crumbling, a total mess. Then, the garden fixed them for me, so I know what you mean about feeling welcomed by it. If it did that for me, the garden must be really excited to have you here.”

Draco bent down when Harry made a soft sound but straightened when he realized Harry was crying. He squeezed Harry’s shoulders lightly and continued pushing him down the path that looped around the garden. 

They were almost to the far edge when Harry said, “Wait.”

Draco almost tipped Harry over when he jerked to a stop.

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Smooth.” He pointed to the fountain in the middle of the garden. ”I want to go over there.”

As far as fountains went, it wasn’t much: bone dry with a foot-high ledge and a pillar-thing in the middle.

Harry was visibly excited. “Stop, stop, stop. I need to…” He looked wildly around the garden. “I need to be up.” He flapped one hand at Draco.

Guessing Harry wanted him to pick him up again, Draco squatted next to him.

“No, no. Maybe if I’m sitting on the ground—”

Draco managed to cast another sticking charm on the skateboard’s wheels before Harry lowered himself onto the path. 

“Yeah. This is better,” Harry muttered to himself. “Okay, okay. Just give me a second.”

Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them with Draco’s hoodie, and put them back on.

Harry frowned at Draco. “Did the book say anything about this? I know that I inherited Godric’s Hollow, and Sirius manages it as my guardian, but is there something else I need to do?”

Draco shook his head. The books were all about the history of the homes — who built them, and the families that lived in them — nothing practical or useful.

“Fine… Let’s see…” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. “Hello!” He cleared his throat self consciously. “Okay, I don’t need to shout. Hello, I’m Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can live together and take care of each other for a long time.”

Harry turned to Draco and nodded. He had an enormous grin on his face. It lit his whole face, his whole body; it radiated off him like the sun. 

A little bit baffled and a little bit amused, Draco smirked. “So that's it? You introduced yourself and now...”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. You should say hello, too.”

Draco’s smirk softened into a smile, but it wasn’t as good as Harry’s. “Hello, Godric’s Hollow. I thanked you for the garden paths already, but I haven’t thanked you for the library. It’s perfect, and Harry’s going to love it.”

“There’s a library? That must be where—” Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he pointed over Draco’s shoulder.

Draco turned around already knowing what he was going to see. What else could it be? Even so, he was awestruck at the sight of the Secret Garden.

Harry held out his arms, and Draco crouched down next to him. He couldn’t have disobeyed even if he’d wanted to. Lifting Harry, Draco was too excited to complain when Harry choked him or to feel awkward when he held Harry’s thighs. 

As they jogged to the garden, the ivy covering its stone walls parted like a curtain to reveal an arched entryway like the one in the picture of Euphemia.

Draco slowed and turned in a circle once they’d entered the garden. Fully-formed flowers and trees didn’t burst from the ground, the air wasn’t filled with birdsong, and small woodland creatures didn’t leap and play in the grass. 

“What next?” Draco asked, struggling to hide his disappointment at the sight of more dead-looking flower beds.

In a voice filled with reverence and awe, Harry said, “Let’s make a loop. I want to see everything.”

Their reactions were so completely different, it made Draco want to feel what Harry felt. Draco turned his head, trying to glimpse Harry’s face. The next best thing to seeing what Harry saw would be to see the facial expression that matched Harry’s tone of voice.

As they followed the path along the garden wall, Harry treated Draco like a pack animal. He pulled on Draco’s shoulders to get him to turn, yanked back, choking Draco to get him to stop, and constantly complained that they were going too slow or too fast. Knowing Harry couldn’t see, Draco didn’t fight the big, dopey grin spreading across his face.

“Over there.” Harry pointed to a square of brown grass. “Can you put me down over there?”

The moment Harry slid off Draco’s back onto the lawn, the scent of petrichor rose from the ground. It was the smell of earth and rain and life.

Harry beamed at him, flung his arms open, and fell back onto the grass. Immediately, his hand shot up to point at the sky.

Draco tilted his head to look up. 

Unlike outside of the garden where it was cloudy and threatening rain, the sky inside the Secret Garden was infinitely black and filled with an infinite number of stars. Draco swallowed down the lump in his throat and gazed at Harry.

“I never knew,” Harry whispered. “Seeing it on the telly…” He shook his head. “It’s enormous and I’m so small.” His finger began to move as though he was counting stars or tracing lines between them. “There’s so many of them.”

Draco lay down next to Harry. Tomorrow, he’d show him the constellation Draco.


	3. Chapter 3

The next night, Harry looked like shit. His skin was sallow, and there were dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes. He stared at Draco, his jaw tight and a deep crease between his eyebrows, practically daring Draco to say something about it. 

So Draco did.  “You look like shit; we aren’t going to the Secret Garden tonight” 

“You always look like shit. That doesn’t stop you from going out.” 

Draco looked down at his jeans and sneakers. “What do you mean? I’m hot.”

“Is your hair meant to look like that?”

“Do you even know what your hair looks like? Besides, I know what you’re doing, and we’re not going out when you look like that.”

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was wearing Draco’s hoodie, and they were halfway to the Secret Garden.

It went that way for the next two nights. Harry was clearly in pain and hadn’t adjusted to a messed up sleep schedule, but Draco didn’t know how to say no without talking about everything that he didn’t know how to talk about. It wasn’t easier to say nothing — not really — only it sort of was. And Harry was a natural bully, so Draco let Harry push him around.

That wasn’t fair. Harry wasn’t a bully. He’d never had the chance to push anyone around before, and he liked it so much that Draco couldn’t bear to be the one to stop him.

Especially when he found out that Professor McGonagall wasn’t teaching Harry to cast spells. Harry only saw her four times a day when she brought his meals, gave him reading assignments, and turned off his lights before bed. The rest of the time he was alone. 

Draco still didn’t understand what Harry and Professor McGonagall were doing at Godric’s Hollow. Harry wasn’t an obscurus, and he wasn’t a danger to anyone. If McGonagall thought that he was, she would spend more time teaching him how to control his magic. Instead, she had him reading _ Magical Theory _ by Adalbert Waffling and  _ A History of Magic _ by Bathilda Bagshot. 

Since Draco was pretty sure Harry didn’t know how to read, that probably wasn’t going very well. Every eleven-year-old knew the charm to make the book read out loud, but a charm was a spell, which meant Harry didn’t know it.

“Harry, how do you feel about breaking rules and going behind the back of an authority figure you may otherwise respect?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

And thus began Harry’s magical education.

After teaching Harry the read-aloud charm, Draco moved on to the fun spells like stinging hexes, tripping hexes, and the jelly legs jinx. After the second time Harry caught him with the jinx, Draco rethought his curriculum. Harry was powerful and a born wizard. He didn’t need Draco to show him how to cast a spell more than twice before he’d mastered it. It wouldn’t be long before Draco had taught Harry everything he knew.

After a few days, Draco settled into a routine: skateboarding in the morning, reading in the library in the afternoon, and late nights with Harry in the Secret Garden. It only took a week for the routine to feel normal.

But normal wasn’t real.

One sunny day, Draco woke up and realized he’d been at Godric's Hollow for two weeks. He’d lost track of why he was there and what was going on in the real world. He spent that day on his skateboard, practicing jumps from the front steps. That night they didn’t talk about Draco’s raw hands and limp just like they didn't talk about how Harry would curl into himself or would grind the heels of his hands into his forehead.

Sick with shame and grief, Draco spent the following morning in the bathroom, head resting on the cool rim of the toilet. That night, Draco read comic books while Harry practiced levitating, summoning, and banishing spells. When Harry summoned Draco’s comic book from his hands, Draco insisted it was time to go back to Harry’s room.

The day after that, Draco refused to get out of bed. He spent the day in that odd space between sleep and wakefulness, dream and nightmare and memory, rested and restless. He didn’t forget about Harry and the Secret Garden. Knowing Harry expected him to appear twisted in his gut along with hunger and thirst and guilt, and he didn’t want to deal with any of them. 

He’d just slipped into a doze when the bed began to vibrate. At first, it was gentle, soothing, and he slipped further into sleep. Vibrating turned to shaking, and he opened his eyes a slit. He was about to tell Godric’s Hollow to leave him alone when the oil lamps flickered on and off, on and off. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t owe Godric’s Hollow and Harry anything. He’d given them each other, more than paying off anything he’d owed them for letting him stay here. This was just a temper tantrum, and he didn’t need to give in to that.

As if reading his mind, the intensity of shaking increased, and the legs of the bed lifted and tapped against the floor. Even with his eyes closed he saw the flames brighten and the intervals between flickering shorten.

Tapping turned to pounding, shaking turned to walking as the bed shook so hard it moved away from the wall and began to cross the floor. Draco held onto the mattress with one hand and covered his eyes when the flickering of the lights turned into the bright rapid flashing of a strobe light. 

“Fuck! Fuck you.” He sat up. “Fuck you.”

The shaking stopped; the lights dimmed.

He wasn’t even through the door when the shouting started.

Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at Draco. “You bastard. Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is?”

“You don’t own me. I don’t have to do anything for you or this damn house.”

The sharp sting of a hex hit Draco’s throat at his adam’s apple, and it hurt like hell. 

Draco pointed his wand back at Harry. “I don’t have to stay here. I can leave whenever I want.”

“You won’t get very far.”

Draco laughed. It was true. Maybe, he’d make it two apparitions before he was caught. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to be.

A hex hit his cheek, just below his right eye, another the corner of his mouth.  He strode to Harry’s bed and ripped the wand from his hand.

Harry sneered at him. “I can cast wandless you know.”

Draco threw Harry’s wand at his head.

Harry grabbed his wand and pointed it at Draco. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” 

“What the fuck’s wrong with _ you _ ?”

“You know what’s wrong with me.”

Draco collapsed onto the floor. “And you know what’s wrong with me.” 

Harry bit out, “I’m in pain all the time. Sometimes it’s worse, but so what? There were days I wanted to die just so I could get out of that cupboard.”

Draco leaned against the side of the bed and tipped his head up to look at the ceiling. He wished that they were in the garden so that he could see the stars instead.

“Lucius was training me to be his lieutenant,” he said, “but I was weak. I was a goddamn faggot, and I needed to toughen up. Like that was the reason I wasn’t good enough. So Lucius sent me to work for Guzman. He was an old friend of Lucius, another narcotrafficker. I needed the fag beat out of me, and if anyone could do it, Guzman could.”

Something touched his shoulder, and  Draco whipped around, his wand drawn. 

Harry leaned away from Draco, his hands in the air. 

Draco dropped his wand and put his head in his hands.

“Guzman gave me a job, but I couldn’t do it. Shooting an old man in the back... I just couldn’t. I’m weak, and a coward, and I ran.”

He hadn’t been thinking straight. He should have apparated straight into the ocean and gotten it over with.

“I called Lucius and told him what I’d done. He told me not to come home, so of course I stole a car and drove fifteen hours from Houston to Santa Fe. Medlock told me later that it wasn’t my fault. Guzman had been planning to take over Lucius’s operation for months. My defection was just the excuse he was looking for to declare war.”

Medlock could say it wasn’t Draco’s fault that Lucius was dead and Narcissa was missing, but she didn’t know.

Harry gently rested his hand on top of Draco’s head. Draco took one gulp of air and then another, and slowly caught his breath. When he could finally breathe steadily, Harry pushed hard against the side of Draco’s head, knocking him off balance. 

“Go back to bed. We can go to the garden tomorrow.”

Draco grabbed his wand and stood. Nothing was fixed, but he’d probably be able to keep going a little while longer.

“And if I see you jumping from the stairs on your skateboard again,” Harry warned him, “I’ll have Godric’s Hollow drop a brick on your head.”

Draco stopped in the doorway. Harry had said what he’d said about the closet, and, god, they should’ve been talking about that. 

They would when Harry was ready to. He hoped someday Harry would be ready to.

He stepped into the hallway and said over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

\---

On Draco’s seventeenth birthday, Harry transfigured a cake out of leftover toast and yogurt. It tasted like sweet charcoal, but Draco refused to share until Harry told him he’d never had a birthday cake. It was a dirty trick, but Draco didn’t mind. The smile on Harry’s face when they split the cake made it worth getting played.

They’d been working on transfiguration in the Secret Garden and had managed to transfigure a very ugly wheelchair from a bench.  That was when Draco learned how truly competitive Harry was. Harry’s focus narrowed to practicing defensive and offensive spells, so they could duel, and racing in his wheelchair against Draco on his skateboard. Draco was just glad Harry didn’t know about brooms.

It didn’t matter if Harry won or lost, Draco always ended up on the ground with a mouthful of dirt because Harry wasn’t just competitive: he fought dirty. He was a sore loser and an awful winner. If Draco was winning, Harry drove him off the path and into a rose bed. If Harry won, he celebrated by driving into Draco and knocking him into the grass. Harry’s favorite thing was pulling Draco’s legs out from under him when Harry was on the ground and Draco was fed up and walking away. 

Harry was a complete ass, and Draco didn’t mind. He loved fighting and playing and hanging out with the bastard.

That was how Draco figured it out. They’d been fighting over something so unimportant Draco couldn’t remember what it was. He’d stood and got one step away from Harry before he felt his feet jerked out from under him. After he caught his breath, he rolled over to watch Harry laugh, and Draco wasn’t pissed off or even irritated. He didn’t want to yell or retaliate. He wanted to watch Harry smirk at him. He wanted to listen to Harry laugh even if it was at him. 

Draco wasn’t just hanging out with a guy he thought was cute. He didn’t have a crush that he’d get over as soon as he was home. Instead, he was completely screwed. He was in love with the asshole, and one of these days, he’d go home and Harry would stay here.

\---

A few weeks later, Draco had just made his first loop around the gardens when he spotted Professor McGonagall on the manor steps. 

She nodded stiffly and said, “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy.”

He’d been staying at Godric’s Hollow for a month and a half, and she still called him that.

“If you would please come with me,” she said, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

Draco's curiosity turned to confusion as he followed her up the stairs turned towards Harry’s room.  He'd assumed she didn’t know about them.  What if something was wrong with Harry? Harry had seemed fine when Draco had left him in his room last night. He’d been tired, of course, but not in pain or worn out like he was sometimes. Had Draco missed something?

At Harry’s door, Professor McGonagall stepped to the side and gestured for Draco to go in first. As Draco stepped in, Harry looked up from the book on his lap and his mouth dropped open. His gaze traveled from Draco to Professor McGonagall when she moved past him to the middle of the room.

“I wanted to tell you both at the same time.” She gave them both a hard, tight smile, then, turned to Draco. “This morning, your mother arrived at the Los Angeles offices of Craven, Lennox and Associates.”

Draco backed up and slumped against the bookshelves. 

“How?” He had a thousand questions and didn’t know which one he was asking. Maybe he was asking all of them.

“I’ve been told that she’s in perfect health and is eager to see you. Ms. Medlock will meet us in a half-hour with a portkey to take you to her.” 

Draco tore his gaze from Professor McGonagall to Harry. Draco hadn’t seen that expression on Harry’s face in a month, and he hated it.

She turned to the door. “I’ll leave you to say goodbye.”

“Wait.” Draco reached out to stop her. “I know you don’t have phones, but can I write Harry or talk to him over the floo?”

“Draco.” She turned to look at Harry too. “It’s much too dangerous. There are situations you don't know about that make it impossible for any but the most urgent communication.”

“Not even for Harry’s birthday?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Maybe later.” 

On her way out of the room, she rested her hand on Draco's shoulder and said, “Thank you.”

The bookshelf was hardly sturdy enough to support Draco’s weight. He was glad. Narcissa was safe and healthy, and he was going home.

But... he was going home.

From the other side of the room, Harry said, “I’m happy for you, Draco. You must be relieved.” 

Harry didn’t sound happy, but if he was trying.

So, Draco tried. “I—”

“Thank you. You gave me Godric’s Hollow, you know. And magic.” Harry smiled weakly. “I’d be stuck reading the history of magic and theories of arithmancy if it wasn’t for you.”

Nodding was as much as Draco could do in the moment.

Harry smiled, and it was almost genuine. “I’ll write as soon as I can or smuggle out a letter with the house elves.” 

That gave Draco the strength to say, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too.”

Draco took a step towards the door, then stopped. 

“See you, Harry.”

“See you, Draco.”

Draco took another step. 

He stopped. Was it fair to tell Harry how he felt? Did he only want to say it to make himself feel better? But there was something Harry needed to know.

He made himself look Harry in the eyes as he said, “I hope this doesn’t change how you think about everything, but I want to tell you that I like you. I don’t need you to say it back or feel it back. I just— I know what you think, and it’s not true. You’re perfect the way you are. I want you to know that someone likes you, and others will too.”

Harry looked stunned and dropped his wand on his lap.

Draco had said he didn’t want Harry to say it back, but that was a lie. Harry’s silence made him want to run.

Instead, he walked slowly to Harry’s bed and held out his hand.

“It was nice knowing you, Harry Potter.”

Harry took his hand, and Draco counted two seconds before dropping it. 

He didn’t look back at the door or as he walked down the hallway. 

He reminded himself that he was relieved Narcissa was alive and well, but he also dreaded what was waiting for him in Los Angeles. It seemed impossible that Narcissa could have been missing for a month and a half and be fine. What had she given to Guzman in exchange for their safety?

The only bright spot in the future that Draco could see was a letter from Harry.

\---

Draco’s first glimpse of Harry in a year wasn’t supposed to be across the courtyard at Malfoy Manor.

Secure behind shields, Draco worked carefully to sever Voldemort’s connections to the manor. He was so focused on his task that he lost track of the battle and missed the moment the members of the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort's Death Eaters stopped fighting and silence fell over the courtyard.

A dark-haired woman strode through the crowd followed by two men dragging a body — Harry! his arms and head limp, feet trailing behind — to the front steps of the manor where Voldemort sat on his throne. 

Draco stepped closer to his shields. What was Harry doing here?

The woman threw herself at his Voldemort’s feet. “I’ve brought you Harry Potter, My Lord.”

Slowly, theatrically, Voldemort stood. A gigantic, jewel-green snake raised its head and slid around Voldemort’s feet. “I knew he would reappear for this,” Voldemort said, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

“Harry!” a panicked voice shouted from the crowd.

Voldemort chuckled. “Harry Potter. The Boy Who Disappeared.” He smiled, and Draco flinched. 

Draco had returned to England when he’d learned that he could help in the fight against Voldemort. He was fighting to keep Harry safe. But Harry was supposed to be in Godric’s Hollow, not in the middle of Malfoy Manor facing Voldemort while everyone just stood there and watched.

Draco couldn’t just stand by and watch.

He launched himself at the shield, bounced back, and crashed into Medlock. Narcissa grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Not taking his eyes off Harry, he pushed away from her and pressed against the shield. 

Harry had lost his glasses and blood oozed from his hairline and mouth. Flanked by the two men holding him up, Harry looked so small.

But he was brave and raised his head as Voldemort shouted, “ _ Avada kedavra! _ ”

In a flash of green light, Harry fell to the ground.

Voldemort laughed as he descended from the veranda, the snake sliding beside him. A shriek of laughter broke the silence, and the battle — even more frantic and brutal than before — resumed.

Draco ripped apart the shield and charged across the courtyard, not caring if he was hurt.

Up close, the damage to Harry’s face was worse than Draco had thought. Blood was smeared under his broken nose and across his cheek, and a bruise darkened his jaw.

How had this happened? Why had Professor McGonagall let this happen? She was supposed to be protecting Harry. That was why she’d kept him locked in his room at Godric’s Hollow. That was why she wouldn’t let them write. It was all to protect Harry.

Kneeling beside him, Draco lifted Harry’s shoulders and cradled his head to his chest.

When six months had passed and Draco hadn’t heard anything from or about Harry, he’d told himself to move on. It was just a crush on a guy he’d known for six weeks. After ten months, he’d told himself he was over it.

But the week before his eighteenth birthday, Medlock told him that he’d inherited Malfoy Manor from his grandfather. Before dying, Abraxas had invited Voldemort to use the manor as his headquarters and given him access to the shields and power stored in the manor.

A hand gripped Draco’s chin and jerked his head up.

“You have a job to do,” Narcissa hissed. “I don’t care why you do it. Do it to save the world. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, and you’re a good person. Do it to get revenge.” She pointed over Draco's shoulder at the courtyard. “Just do it.”

Draco turned. 

Hands shaking, a teenager held out a silver sword. Voldemort’s snake, its fangs bared, lunged forward, and the teenager swung at it wildly.

Draco’s pulse raced. He could destroy Voldemort.  A small part of him knew that this was the manor pushing him to be its Castelain, the commander of the fort it had once been. It was pushing him to be the kind of man Lucius and Abraxas had been: men who craved power and used it without worrying about the consequences. 

Narcissa pulled Harry out of his arms, and Draco stood and faced the courtyard.

A dozen feet from the veranda, Voldemort and a tall man in black robes circled each other. Even without any context, Draco knew this was the moment the Order had been waiting for. 

He felt the power of Malfoy Manor rush through him. Together, they would tear through Voldemort’s connection to the manor. They would tear through Voldemort. Voldemort had stolen from the manor. He’d been a guest who had turned on the Castelain and enslaved the manor. They would get revenge.

Mere feet away, Voldemort shouted at the man in black. He gloated. He reveled in a victory he hadn’t yet earned. But he hadn’t noticed Draco looking down on him from the manor steps.

Draco loosened his grip on his wand. He hadn’t been able to shoot a man in the back before, and he still couldn't. So he did what he could. He focused on the last of Voldemort’s ties to the manor and slashed them to pieces.

His face contorted with rage, Voldemort spun around, finally aware of the new Castelain of Malfoy Manor. 

There was no time to cast a shield or even to duck. Fascinated, Draco watched Voldemort raise his wand and shout the killing curse. At the same moment, the man in black shouted, “Expelliarmus.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding flare of gold and green. 

His legs were knocked out from under him. His head bounced against the floor of the stone veranda. He saw stars in the night sky.

Then, at the touch of a hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes, and Harry’s green eyes blinked back at him.

\---

Almost two months after the Battle of Malfoy Manor, Harry waited impatiently for Draco to say goodbye to Professor McGonagall. There couldn’t have been that much more for them to talk about. Draco had seen her yesterday, and he’d seen her for two hours today. Harry would have to reconsider their relationship if he found out Draco had plans to see her again before Monday.

Harry had worried that Draco would have changed into a stranger during the year they'd been apart. Of course, Draco  _ had _ changed. He’d stopped wearing saggy jeans and grown out the top of his hair into something called a “high and tight.” Even better, Draco couldn’t seem to stop touching him.

Harry rolled over to Draco and Professor McGonagall at the entrance to the Secret Garden. She gave Harry an apologetic look, but Draco only registered Harry’s presence by dropping his hand onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry knew what was coming next and almost felt sorry for her, but she had commanded an army, ousted a dictator, and should have left fifteen minutes ago.

Harry brushed the back of his hand against Draco’s leg. Distracted, Draco rubbed Harry’s shoulder. Harry pinched the fabric of Draco’s trousers and tugged. Draco‘s hand slid from Harry’s shoulder and dipped down the back of his collar. Harry rested his hand on the small of Draco’s back. 

Professor McGonagall said, “Look at the time. I should let you rest.” 

Harry smiled and shook Professor McGonagall’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming,” he said, and mostly meant it. 

He doubted he’d ever forgive her. There were days when the pain was too much, when he wanted to tear the world apart out of frustration for all that he couldn’t do, when all he could feel was powerless and used. On those days, he almost hated her.

As she walked away, Draco slapped the back of Harry’s head. “You couldn’t have waited five more minutes?”

Harry didn’t bother responding. It was his eighteenth birthday, and he could be childish if he wanted. 

Molly had offered to throw him a big party. As much as he wanted to please her, he’d said no. The Weasleys and Hermione had moved into Godric's Hollow after Death Eaters burned down the Burrow, and it had taken Harry months to adjust. A year later, he was still anxious being around more than a dozen people at a time.  He’d decided to have a small dinner instead of a party, just a few friends and family eating Chinese takeout and drinking champagne.

While their guests watched, Ms. Medlock — Draco’s lawyer/bodyguard/nanny — had unrolled the deeds to Godric’s Hollow and Malfoy Manor. It was just a legal formality for Harry and Godric’s Hollow. Harry had reached the age of majority, and Sirius was no longer Harry’s guardian and trustee. 

On the other hand, Draco had transferred the deed to Malfoy Manor to the British Cultural Center Foundation (Professor Minerva McGonagall, chair). Draco had never planned to keep the manor, and within an hour of meeting Hermione, they’d come up with the mission statement for what would become the BCCF.  Harry knew that giving away the manor hadn’t been an easy decision for Draco to make. He knew that Malfoy Manor and Godric’s Hollow were entirely different houses. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking of it as a betrayal. Then, he’d made the mistake of saying that to Draco.

After explaining to him all how he was a self-absorbed arse, Hermione had suggested, “Don’t think of it as severing the bond between a house and its family. Think of it as transforming a genocidal maniac’s fortress of terror into a modern-day history and education center.” 

The manor would become a museum, conference center, and school for children aged two through twelve. It was something worth celebrating. They ate, they toasted the foundation, and then their guests left.

Knowing Draco would follow him, Harry lowered himself onto his favorite patch of grass and lay on his side. Draco dropped to the ground next to him and held out half an egg roll.

Along with Draco’s wardrobe and hairstyle, a lot had changed in the year since Harry had bonded with Godric’s Hollow. 

At first, it seemed like the Secret Garden changed every day as it tried to understand Harry’s tastes and needs. Once it had settled, Harry’s garden was very different from Euphemia’s formal rose garden. Filled with heather, lavender, and a stand of beech trees, the Secret Garden felt like an extension of the Lowland Heath surrounding the manor. It was a taste of the world Harry hoped to explore someday.

The day after the battle, Draco had come home with Harry, and a three-room cottage had appeared at the bottom of the garden. Harry needed calm and quiet, and the Weasleys were busy and loud. He didn’t want them to move out; he and Godric’s Hollow loved having a family fill the house again. He just needed his own space, and Godric's Hollow had given it to him.

There were other changes, too — ones that he didn’t notice anymore. Changes that he didn’t think of as changes because they’d become the new normal.

There was one change he wanted to remember, that was too important not to acknowledge. 

He swallowed the last of his egg roll and took a deep breath. 

Draco stopped chewing and stared.

Harry took another deep breath and said, “This isn't a proposal.”

Draco choked. Between laughing and coughing, he managed to say, “That has to be the worst way to start a proposal.”

“It’s not a proposal!”

“Okay.”

“It’s more like a question…”

“What do you think a proposal is?”

“I wanted to ask— ” 

Draco snickered.

“God, you’re such an arse. I want you to stay. Here. With me. It doesn’t have to be forever.” Trying to read Draco’s unreadable expression, Harry paused. He started again. “I want you to stay as long as you want to stay. Okay?”

“I want to stay as long as you want me to stay. Okay?”

“Fine.” Harry rolled over and stared up at the stars. 

“Fine.” Draco huffed. “I’m not the ass. You’re the ass.”

And Harry laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2020/works) on 15 June 2020.
> 
> Please show your appreciation to the creator with kudos and comments :)


End file.
